The Next Dawn
by AlexisVega
Summary: Fallen victim to fate and destiny at play, Eva finds herself herded by demons. And as she mulls over the possibility of her survival, guess who decided to show up ...


_There are in life a few moments so beautiful, _

_that even words are sort of profanity ..._

_ ... Diana Palmer _

Ever heard of things that go bump in the night? Of ghosts, vampires, and werewolves?

What about demons?

Unlike every profanity that the night has to offer, can demons be counted amongst them?

I don't say they're any better, if not worst; but they're what my eyes have seen and my brain has registered, proof enough that they exist, thus the question.

Well, either that, or I'm going paranoid just by the very thought of seeing one; shuddering on recalling the words of a friend who proclaims to have seen them – black as the darkest night; blood shot orbs hungrily eying their prey; those scathing sharp teeth tearing through everything in their way.

And to think I wished to see one ... I had always longed to see one.

So just for the fun of it, mad with exhilaration, my friends and I would purposely go looking for trouble, intentionally creeping into every haunted creak and crevice, zestfully craving for adventure, tirelessly anticipating the nightfall.

But never in my widest nightmares could it have occured to me that I would find one in the most unlikeliest of places, amongst the most innocent of people. And to think the very person I had started to offer my undaunted faith to.

Now here I sit in the cold night with nothing but the glistening moon over my head, surrounded by those despicable creatures wherever my eyes rest, prowling about eagerly to devour the human sitting before them to the very last shred.

Clueless if I'll live to see the next dawn, I helplessly reflect on all the silly endevours that lay in my past, wishing to get drowned in the safety of those days which are untouched by the shadows of today's cruel, upturned fate.

However, a sudden change in the breeze, a mild sense as light as a falling leaf detached from its abode, has me whip my head to the front.

And there he stands before me, the wan light of the moon delicately touching his consummate features; still as a lake in a chilled winter night, serene as the frosted peak of a cliff: enigmatic and lone, yet towering over the rest with its unrivalled glory and eminence.

To the world, he is Tony Redgrave.

But to a few who have won his impassable trust, he is Sparda.

A few like myself.

He is, indeed, the most captivating of all the things I have ever set my eyes on.

His each step is always advanced with such grace and elegance that even ancient royalty would ache at the sight of, trembling and quaking in its yearning.

Even today I am appalled at how his tinkling laughter would effortlessly drown all other sounds into nothingness, making them easily disappear into submission to the enticing melody of his velvet, vivacious voice.

And how his striking crystal blue eyes, enlivened by the light of purity bestowed by the heavens itself, are perfectly befitting to his handsomely chiseled face.

His shimmering silver locks, as though daintily painted by the soothing rays of the full moon, are delicately caressed by the very rays as his soft strands, perfectly streaked back with not one astray, show the world the gleam encased in those alluring orbs beneath.

I swallowed with difficulty, cowering under those piercing ice-blue eyes that always made me feel as if he could see right through me, learning everything there is to know; and for some crazy inexplicable reason, that very gaze of his appeared to me as the causality of the bitter chill in the air.

Crazy, yes. I am nothing but that word. And that is how I have always seen myself.

But he however deems me to be much more than that, far more than a mere human.

Different. Special. Even unique.

And I am always cast in a flurry of questions on pondering his reasons for this regard he holds for someone like me.

Still, I never ask. And neither do I voice my fondness for his affection. But I do love feeling what just his one sight courses through me – an elation that brims me to my very last core when he smiles, solely for me.

And even though he doesn't say it, I know very well that no matter how distant we are, he is out there looking after me.

A chill ran down my spine as I notice the thin line of his lips delicately curve up to etch a crooked smirk, as if he just read my thoughts.

Unwillingly, I avert my eyes to the herd of those red eyed beasts, troubled by their pressing gaze.

But my eyes widen in incredulity on meeting what I did not anticipate – there were no more restless movements : none forged a step in my direction, and none dared to utter the vaguest of sounds. Apparently, fearing their certain demise at the hands of the Dark Knight.

I turn my head back to him. In the spur of a moment, the tranquility sprinkling his assuring smile eases all my worries, and I feel as if I am one with his serenading self.

I breathe, returning his smile.

Tomorrow's dawn awaits me ...


End file.
